Marly Unmarginated

Being an Adult is Overrated (And Nobody Even Asked About My Shoes)

September 19, 2025

“Not a single adult asked me if I could run fast in my new shoes today. Being an adult is stupid” This quote stopped me in my tracks.

The other day I put on brand new shoes. Shiny, squeaky, full of possibility. And you know what? Not a single person asked me if I could run fast in them. Zero. Nada. None. Remember when new shoes automatically meant you were a track star? You’d zoom around the playground, proudly showing off your neon laces or lights, just waiting for someone to ask “How fast can you run in those?” Then you would sprint like you were chasing the ice cream truck.

Fast forward to adulthood, you wear new shoes into the office and what do you get? Not a single inquiry about your speed. Just a polite “cute shoes” or ” those look comfortable.” Excuse me, Brenda, but these aren’t boring shoes or orthopedic loafers, they’re my zoomies capable of breaking the sound barrier. Recognize.

That is just one of the ways adulthood robs us of fun. Adulthood kind of forgets about the magic. As kids, we fought naps like they were a human rights violation. Now kids get naps with soft blankets and lullabies. Adults? We get burnout and “power naps” in awkward positions and places, waking up with a crick in our neck and drool. Honestly, if society built in daily nap time with juice boxes, productivity would skyrocket.

At age seven, you could wow a whole crowd with your cartwheel or recorder solo. At over fifty, your “talent” is remembering your passwords to everything. No applause, no participation ribbon, just the sound of silence.

When you were little, birthdays meant balloons, cakes, friends, fun and bouncy houses. As an adult? Someone takes you to dinner, maybe. Where’s my pinata, Karen? Where’s the bubble machine?

As kids, we could turn to a cardboard box into a spaceship, a castle or a time machine. Now we just grumble about how Amazon left it on the wrong porch or having to haul them to recycling.

We used to eat dessert or cereal for dinner without judgement. As an adult, if you dare pour a bowl of Lucky Charms at 6 pm, people look at you like a reckless daredevil “not making healthy choices.” Meanwhile, kale still tastes like disappointment

Back then, stickers were currency and they made you feel like Einstein. Do a good job? Boom, gold star. Win a spelling bee? Scratch-n-sniff grape sticker. Now the only stickers I get are the ones stuck to apples that I can’t peel off properly or the ones that make you cuss when you step on them.

So yes, being and adult is stupid. But maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe next time you see someone in fresh sneakers, you should ask the most important question “But can you run fast in them?” Because fun isn’t dead. It’s just buried under bills, emails, responsibility and an unholy amount of laundry.

We all still want to race across the playground in new sneakers, stickers on our shirts, frosting on our faces, and not a single care about kale. So if all else fails, grab a juice box, slap a sticker on your shirt and sprint down the hallway. I promise, it’ll feel better than kale.

From the margins where the magic lives…Marly.
Back to School: Alarms, Agendas & A Whole Lotta Caffeine

August 6, 2025

Well folks….sharpen your pencils and your patience because it is back to school time! That magical season where Target aisles look like a battle zone, lunchboxes loom and moms everywhere are clinging to coffee (in my case Dr. Pepper) like it’s the lifeline it truly is.

I’ve got one grown daughter out there adulting (God bless her), and one heading into 5th grade, full of sass, sparkle and more outfit changes than a pop star on tour.

Let me break it down for all my fellow moms, dads and anyone else feeling like they’re barely holding it together:

⏰ Early Alarms and Late Starts: Remember summer? When mornings were slow and glorious? Yeah, that’s over. Now it’s alarms blaring, cereal flying and the Olympic sport of finding shoes while flying out the door. The school bell waits for no one….the later in the year, the later we get sliding in tires squealing at the bell.

🚙Parent Pick Up Line = Survival of the Fittest: The car line is a sacred (and slightly savage) space. Where time stands still and your patience is tested. There are unspoken rules. It starts off innocent enough. You think “I’ll leave a few minutes early and beat the rush”. HA. You roll up and there are already 27 cars ahead of you There’s the power mom who brings snacks, a podcast, and a mini office in her front seat. There’s the first time kindergarten mom who arrives at noon for the 3:30 bell, bless her sweet anxious heart There’s the me time mom arriving early for a slow down, a quiet space and maybe a bit of reading. And then there’s that one parent who cuts the line like they have a presidential pardon. We all see you, Karen. We all see you. 😂

🧃Pack It Up, Pack It In (Let me begin…again): Packing lunches sounds easy…until it’s the 37th day and you’re scraping together an “inventive” combo of random lunch meat rolls, string cheese pulled apart to feel fancy, four crackers left in the sleeve, and two baby carrots (because you care). And theme day? Don’t even get me started on finding crazy hats, some cute school appropriate pajamas and something that starts with the letter Q.

📅 Schedules? What Schedules? Between homework, volleyball, church activities, game days and the occasional meltdown (hers or mine…who’s to say), my calendar now resembles an abstract art piece with color-coded chaos.

But also…the Magic! 🪄

There’s a moment after the chaos. When she walks out of school, hair a mess, face flushed, waving at me and she is beaming. That’s when I remember why we do it. The growth, the grit, the friendships, the figuring it out.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s not just our kids heading back to school. Maybe we’re learning, too. To let go a little. To laugh at the mess. To love the season we’re in, even when it’s wild.

Here’s to all the parents navigating backpacks, BIG emotions, and breakfast battles. To administrators, teachers, coaches and support staff giving their all. To the magic of new beginnings, messy middles, and meaningful memories.

To all the parents juggling the chaos and all the students stepping into a new chapter, may your year be full of growth, joy and the kind of magic that only school days can bring.

So let’s do this, y’all! And if not with grace, then at least with a strong cup of coffee and a sense of humor.

Until next time, from the margins where the magic lives…Marly
Mistakes, Mercy and the Messy of Being Human

July 18, 2025

I’ve made mistakes.

Big ones. Small ones. Loud ones that echoed. Quiet ones that gnawed at me in the dark The kind that keep you up at night replaying every detail, and the kind that sneak up years later with a sting of ” I should’ve known better.”

And you know what? I regret them. I really do.

But, I’m also learning to see regret as something other than a chain around my ankles. I’m learning to see it as a compass, pointing me toward growth, toward grace, toward a better version of myself.

Because here’s the truth, we’re human. Not flawless, not immune to weakness or misjudgment, not born with a rulebook titled How to Get It All Right the First Time.

We’re meant to learn. We’re meant to fall short. We’re meant to mess up and then rise, humbler, wiser and softer.

What matters most isn’t whether you’ve stumbled. It is what you do after the fall.

Do you take ownership? Do you apologize? Do you seek to understand the damage and begin repairing the pieces, even if some can’t be put back the same? That’s where the soul shines.

But here’s the part we forget in a world quick to cancel, criticize, and categorize: Making a mistake does not make you a bad person. It makes you…a person.

We all want grace when it’s our turn to mess up, but we sometimes forget to extend that same grace to others. We slap labels on people based on the worst chapter of their story and forget that redemption is real. Growth is real. Forgiveness is not only possible, it is necessary.

Let people repent.

Let people apologize.

Let God do the judging.

He is way better at it than we are.

I am not the sum of my missteps. You are not defined by your past. We are evolving, rewriting and rebuilding…brick by brick, heart by heart.

So if you have been carrying the weight of regret, maybe it is time to set it down. Use it, yes, but don’t let it use you. Let it teach you, guide you and remind you of your humanness and your holiness.

And if someone else is in the process of learning their lesson, maybe don’t slam the door. Maybe don’t freeze-frame them in that one bad moment. You don’t have to forget but you can choose to forgive. You can choose to believe in the possibility of change. Because honestly, haven’t you needed that, too?

None of us are perfect.

And grace isn’t just a gift, it’s a bridge. One we all need to cross again and again.

So be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Let the past shape you, but not shackle you. Let it be the soil, not the sentence.

And keep going.

With a little more understanding. A lot more softness. And a whole lot of heart.

Where messy meets meaningful and magic lives in the margins…Marly
When the Water Rises, So Does Humanity

July 5, 2025

Central Texas is hurting. The recent flooding has left a path of destruction so deep, so raw, that it’s hard to put into words. Entire communities are underwater, homes gone, lives lost, families torn apart. Roads that once led us to friends and loved ones now lead only to heartbreak. It’s the kind of devastation that makes your chest ache and your eyes well up before the first sentence is even finished.

But it’s also the kind of devastation that does something else.

Tragedy has a brutal way of reminding us just how fragile life is. It shakes us awake from the everyday hustle and invites us to look around, to really see each other. To recognize that none of us are immune to suffering. And that in the face of mass loss, it’s not only okay to lean on one another, it’s necessary.

For many, asking for help is the hardest part. We’re a proud people. We like to be strong, to carry out burdens quietly. But when water rushes in and steals your home, your car, your memories, and sometimes your hope, strength comes not from pretending to be okay, it comes from holding a hand out and accepting the one that’s reaching back.

That is where humanity rises.

We see neighbors wading through chest-high water to rescue strangers. Volunteers working around the clock, delivering hot meals, dry clothes, and hugs that hold more warmth than the Texas sun. Families opening their doors to those who’ve lost theirs. Children drawing pictures to lift spirits in shelters. First responders showing up again and again, without pause or complaint. These are the flickers of light in the darkness, the undeniable proof that we’re still good, still compassionate, still one another’s keepers.

Mass tragedy will never make sense. It will never feel fair. But in it’s wake, it often leaves behind a thread that stitches us together. And in that stitching, we find connection. We find purpose. We find grace.

If you are reading this and wondering what you can do, do something. Anything. Donate. Cook. Pray. Write a card. Offer a room. Listen. Cry with someone. Be the hand reaching back.

Because when the waters rise, so must we.

Together.

With all heart and prayers, Marly.
Where Roots Run Deep, Life in a Small Texas Town

June 26, 2025

I grew up in a small Texas town, and I never really left.

Sure, I’ve traveled. I’ve seen other skies and walked other streets. But there’s something about a town where you know the streets and the people on them that stays with you. Where your story is stitched together with Friday night lights, early morning coffee shop chatter, and generations of familiar faces.

This is the place where I grew up, fell down, found my footing, and raised my children.

And let me tell you, there’s nothing small about a small town.

The spirit? It’s HUGE.

It swells in your chest during a homecoming pep rally or a playoff game under those blazing stadium lights. It’s painted on storefront windows in school colors, and it waves proudly from the bleachers with pom-poms and cowbells. There’s a rhythm to the year here, football season, stock show time, the parade route marked in chalk and tradition.

But it’s more than just school pride. It’s community in the truest sense.

It’s your neighbor bringing over a casserole when they hear you’ve had a tough week. It’s someone pulling your trash can back up from the curb just because they noticed you forgot. It’s being able to run into the post office, grocery store, or that one breakfast spot (you know the one), and guaranteed, you’ll see someone you know, and you’ll stop for a hug, a laugh, or just a “how are y’all holding up?”

It’s not about being in everyone’s business, it’s about everyone being in it together.

We raise our kids here with that same sense of belonging. They grow up with second moms and bonus grandparents all around them. Teachers who taught us are now teaching them. And whether it’s a scraped knee, a ride to practice, or someone to cheer from the sidelines our people show up.

That’s just what we do.

And the friendships? Oh, they run deep. The kind that stretch across years, states, and seasons of life. We may scatter, but our hearts stay rooted. Bound together by childhood sleepovers, Sunday service, dance recitals, after school sports and those long summer nights when the air buzzes with crickets and possibility.

It’s not always perfect. Sometimes small towns feel… small. But even in the hard moments, there’s a comfort in knowing your people are just down the road, or across the bleachers, or pulling into the same gas station with a wave and a smile.

Because here in this little Texas town we don’t just live next to each other.

We belong to each other.

And that, my friends, is a kind of wealth the world doesn’t always understand.

So here’s to where the roots run deep.

To the places that raised us, and the people who still know our childhood nicknames.

To the dusty roads, the giant skies, and the kind of spirit you carry wherever life takes you.

I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Marly Unmarginated, homegrown, heart-full, and proud of it.

From the margins where the magic lives…Marly
Where the Edges Fade

June 25, 2025

A space for the in-between, where mess becomes meaning and you are already enough.

Hi, I’m Marly. And if you’ve ever felt like you didn’t quite fit in, like you were somehow too much and not enough all at once, this space is for you.

I created Marly Unmarginated because between the lines, things are tidy, quiet, acceptable. But, I’m not tidy. I’m not quiet. I’m not always “put together.” I feel deeply. I love hard. I unravel sometimes. And somewhere in the mess of it all, I realized, maybe the mess is where the magic lives.

Here, you’ll find poetry poured straight from my chest. Ponderings on belonging, on grief, on joy, on being a mom, of being a small town girl, on what it means to be a person in a world that asks us to perform, filter, shrink. I want this to be a space where we can breathe again. Where being real is enough. Where you don’t have to wear armor to be welcome.

I won’t promise perfect sentences. But I do promise an authentic, genuine voice. The kind that shakes sometimes. The kind that makes you exhale and whisper “me too.”

This is for the beautiful chaos of life. The sacred ache of being human. For anyone who’s ever felt like they were on the outside looking in.

You belong here.

Welcome to unmarginated.

From the margins where the magic lives…Marly